Arik shook Fahon. "Wake up. You'll want to see this."
Fahon snapped awake, disoriented at his strange surroundings. The tight corridor of the room he was in swayed. He remembered the past few nights and struggled to sit, latching onto the frame bars of the bunk, letting his sudden sea sickness settle.
Arik left, feet clinking as he climbed the metal ladder. Fahon wavered on the unsteady floor as he stood and followed topside.
Even the humid air was refreshing compared to the stuffy cabin. The open sky relieved Fahon of the sense of the world pressing in around him. He could breathe.
The Twins were setting in the west, like two blazing eyes on the horizon. They had been traveling along the coast for most of the day. Fahon grabbed the railing at the edge of the boat beside Arik and followed his line of sight toward land. Brine from the sea sprayed him, some of it getting into his mouth.
As they came around a large pier it came into view. "Serenity!"
He wished he could pull out his Caster to closely view the scene. Pain old human eyes would have to do for now.
Six towers of concrete, weather-treated steel, and titanium dominated the coast. The ancient monoliths were broad as mountains and rose higher than the clouds. The enormous metropolis on terraces skirting the towers was a tangle of green overgrowth and concrete. The glass windows of the buildings had long ago been shattered, leaving the structures haunting skeletons of their former glory. Vines and other entangling plants draped from the lower floors. An occasional cluster of forest poked out of the sprawling garden levels.
Serenity once had been the capital city of the ancient colonists. The rest of the metropolis sprawled back into the dense jungle, now hidden on the emerald hills. Tens of millions of people once lived and worked there until the Conflagration saw the city besieged. Eventually, its inhabitants evacuated, leaving the jungle to reclaim its territory.
"The images on the Repository don't do justice."
As they rounded Serenity and into Southern Bay, they could see Zele sparkling along the mouth of a river. It had once been a smaller satellite city of Serenity, having grown from its parent city's downfall. Its towers were far smaller but taller than any in Ophan. Airships, gliding above the tops of the forest hills, moved in a steady stream towards Zele's massive skyport. A single silver line cutting through the forest indicated the rail. It reached back to Whitestone and farther beyond Northwatch. But the ancients had produced far faster transportation systems, and they still had much catching up to do.
The docks were a complex maze of concrete piers surrounded by floating metal lined with boats of all shapes and sizes, from small rowboats to great barges and liners. The fishing boat turned and navigated through a sub-canal, heading upstream into the city. The great walls of the canal ran ten meters high, were covered in graffiti and lined by rusty railings. People in dark rags hung over them, watching the boat rumble by, eyes hollow like skeletons, bodies bags of skin and bones.
Fahon nudged Arik.
"It's not their fault they live like this," Arik said in a solemn voice.
The fishing boat eventually reached the Warehouse Sector and pulled into an open wharf, tying off to a low wall inset with dozens of large metal rings.
Arik thanked the captain, and they climbed off the boat. The skies above the center of the city swarmed with drones, like bees near a hive, buzzing through the skies in self-guided aerial lanes. Most were as big as cars and carried cargo crates strapped to their undersides. Smaller ones, the size of an eagle, transported smaller cases. Drones were only allowed for military purposes in Ophan. They weren't allowed to fly about like this. It was a bizarre sight for Fahon.
"Where to first?" Fahon asked.
"Need to get us a ride."
Using his comm, Arik ordered a taxi ride. Minutes later, a rusty green cab covered in advertisement stickers arrived, and its doors automatically opened. The two climbed inside. Arik commanded the cybermind to take them to their destination, and the cab rolled away.
Fahon watched the city roll by, glad for the filtered air of the cab. The streets were lined with trash bags and other broken refuse. People lived in tall narrow apartment buildings, the balconies draping hanging laundry and cluttered with furniture. Droves of pedestrians streamed along. Some shuffled lazily with great backpacks stuffed with personal belongings. The famous street nomads of Zele. Drones landed on perches, dropping off packages. Neon signs, and great holographic advertisements, buzzed and set the street aglow with colored light.
Fahon frowned. "This doesn't look like Uptown."
"We're not going there. Too many people would recognize me. They might even recognize you. We stay down here in the mud."
After driving a few blocks, Arik ordered the cybermind to pull over. It nimbly parallel parked the rusty green cab into an open spot. At least it matched the other rust buckets. A newer model would stick out like Haven at night.
Arik went to open the door. "I need to pick something up. You stay here."
Fahon looked around the neighborhood, grimacing. "No. I'm going with you."
Leaving the car behind, Arik led him through a series of stinky alleyways. Men and women were clogging the paths. Fahon had to step carefully around them. Their heads were hung, some asleep, others in a forlorn daze. Glitter seemed to cover their nostrils and mouths, some of it sprinkled on their clothing.
Arik shook his head in sadness. "Razzle, they call it. Comes as a glittery powder. People snort it and go into a euphoric daze for hours at a time. The Syndicate produces and smuggles it all over the moon."
"They just do it in the streets. This is very unsafe." Fahon grimaced at the sad sight.
"Most people around here don't have anything to lose, including their lives. Their next hit is all they care about. They'll beg, borrow, and steal. It's sad."
Fahon stopped to examine one of the unfortunate souls. Their eyes were rolled back in their head, and they were unresponsive, like a coma patient. "Someone should help them. They should seek medical treatment. Drug addiction is a curable disease."
"If money is being made, there's nothing to be cured. Razzle is illegal, but the law is not heavily enforced down here. The police around here are mostly in league with the Syndicate."
Arik stopped in front of a reinforced steel door. A neon sign hung above with the words: VAULT HOUSE.
He banged his fist against the door three times. A series of bolts and latches clicked inside before the heavy door swung open. A sturdy woman with long curly hair stood on the threshold, clad in all black, holding a double barrel shotgun. She narrowed her eyes at Arik and lowered the weapon.
"You're back," the woman said to Arik. "Never thought I'd see you again."
"It's great to see you, Rela. I need to get to my safe."
"You're three months late on rent. I was about to auction your things off. You're lucky. I expect to be paid before you leave." Rela tapped the barrel of her shotgun.
Arik rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish smile. She turned sideways to let them inside. Arik, being smaller, slipped inside easily. Fahon found it awkward getting through without rubbing against her. She stared at him point-blank, her dark ruby eyes narrowed in suspicion.
The hallway, with peeling lime paint, led to a set of rickety wooden stairs. At the bottom was a sprawling basement lined with rows of titanium strong boxes. Each one had a single spinning dial lock at the center. Arik entered his combination.
"I don't get the purpose of this place. A room of lock boxes. Why not buy your own?" Fahon whispered to Arik.
"Number one, they're expensive. Number two, there isn't anywhere else safe to store stuff in Lowtown. Except for places like this…and then it's only somewhat safe. I trust Rela. She's loyal to her customers and hates the Syndicate with a passion. Hence the shotgun."
The lockbox clicked open. Arik grabbed a black duffle bag and shoved the door close. On the way out, he unzipped the bag, produced a band of bills, and handed Rela a few five-hundred marks.
Rela grinned at the generous payment and stuffed it in her pocket. "Word on the street is the Syndicate is still looking for you."
"I signed my own death warrant. Time to do something about it." Arik zipped the bag and ascended the stairs without a further word. Fahon had never seen him so determined before.
Fahon followed and gave Rela a curt nod. She followed them to the door, opening its many locks with practiced precision and swinging it back open. She almost hit a street nomad who had stopped to fill a bottle of water from a dripping ran gutter beside it. She leveled the shotgun at him, and he scampered off.
"Who's the kid Arik?" Rela motioned to Fahon as they stepped into the alley.
Arik wiped some blood dribbling from the cuts on his lips. "Friend of mine, showing him around town. Let's say he has some interest in the Syndicate's demise."
"Hum. You usually fly solo. Just what kinda trouble are you in?"
Arik smiled meekly. In the cab, Fahon snatched the bag from Arik and unzipped it. Inside he had two pistols, a submachine gun, and a half dozen wads of bills. Fahon pulled out a pistol and went through the ritual of checking it like he was taught by his martial instructors. Safety was on, thank the Twins. It had a bullet in the chamber and a full seventeen-round magazine.
He gave Arik a steely look. "Do you even know how to use this?"
Arik scratched at the stubble on his face. "I've seen some vids, so sorta."
"You have enough marks here to pay what you owe the Syndicate," Fahon said, shaking his head. "I don't understand. Why didn't you?"
"Right. I thought things would go differently. This is my backup money, my life savings, and where I stash any big winnings. Locked away from me, so I can't spend it."
"You make no sense." Fahon sighed. He put the pistol back, zipped the bag, and tossed it back at Arik, who grunted as he caught on the chest. The cybermind drove off, taking them to their destination. "Let's go meet those friends of yours."
---
They left the taxi behind, setting out across an industrial wasteland, feet crunching on disintegrated concrete.
Fahon stepped up alongside Arik. "Your friends live in an interesting place."
Arik strode along with the duffle bag under one arm and head low. "Zele was once a prosperous city, a place to visit and vacation. They had plenty of good-paying jobs at the factories. The Zeleians were forerunners in technology. Most of their technology was reverse-engineered from what was found in the ruins of Serenity. They called this sector the Works. Now, most people call it the Rusts."
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Every post, fence, and sign was coated with rust. The Twins hung low in the western sky, their reddish light setting the city ablaze. The heat of the day retreated, despite the humidity, and he found relief beneath the long shadows of the buildings.
The sector had been left to decay, with only quiet lots, derelict buildings, and empty streets. The occasional meandering street nomad strolled past or begged for money. Fahon spotted scrawny feral dogs moving in roving packs and flocks of blackbirds perched in ominous droves upon rooftops and lampposts.
Groups of impoverished people created semi-permanent homes under overpasses, rusty sheet-metal shanties with hanging tarps for roofs, and blankets for awnings. A luckier group had set up inside the steel honeycomb remnants of some long-ago abandoned construction project. Children played in a vacant parking lot, kicking around a patched ball. Women scrubbed clothes manually inside a giant blue plastic vat, which had once stored chemicals.
Fahon couldn't help swiveling his head around in confusion. "What happened to this sector? All these factories are abandoned. There are so many. Think of the wealth it would produce."
"The Unification War happened. Strained Zele's industry. The Free States' government couldn't pay the factories towards the end," Arik explained. A ball bounced into the street before him, and he kicked it back. The ball flew wide by about five meters from his intended target but otherwise arced far.
Arik continued, "Being forced to produce goods for the war, the factory owners, in turn, couldn't pay the workers. They had to shut down. It caused riots all over the city. Once the Alliance finally lost the war, things never recovered here. Investors fled. Left the former workers to scrape by. The economy never recovered, unfortunately."
Their meandering path through the Rusts led them to a large factory on a hill. The entire facility was surrounded by a high concrete wall. Tall exhaust towers poked like great spears threatening the sky. From the vantage point, Fahon could spot the jumped mess of Lowtown pressed against the harbor below. The sea stretched out to the horizon, bright blue waters shimmering with orange-red sunlight.
The front gates lie twisted and broken, with a section big enough for a person to squeeze through cut out of the pattern of chain links. They slipped past, trekking towards the main building past several vacant parking lots.
"I'm getting a little worried," Fahon said, eyeing the glass windows to see if anyone. He wanted to pull out Divinity just in case. "Your friends live in an abandoned factory?"
"It's like…a secret hideout, I guess," Arik replied.
Fahon scoffed. "Not so secret if someone like you knows about it."
Arik raised a finger. "The Syndicate and police don't bother coming around here. I only know where it is because I helped pick it out."
They followed the perimeter of the building. Fahon saw several cameras hanging off the building and nearby lamp posts. Were they active? Around the building, they found the loading dock. The husks of a few decaying trailers remained parked at the docks.
Fahon grabbed Arik by both shoulders. "You told me to trust you. But you need to see things from my point of view. First, it's Kormel and the Syndicate coming after you. Then the family of smugglers living in a swamp. Don't forget the scary lady with a shotgun. At least give me a heads up on what we're walking into this time."
Arik peeled his hands away and gave him an understanding nod. "My friend Pom runs a local organization called the Faceless."
Fahon held up an eyebrow in surprise. He knew the name very well from the newscasts. "Known terrorists."
Arik rubbed the back of his head. "They're officially labeled as a terrorist group by the government. However, the truth is complicated. I would call them a vigilante group or freedom fighters. Maybe a bit of both at this point. They strike at the Syndicate primarily and are working to destroy them."
Fahon shook his head slowly. He almost couldn't believe it. But this was Arik, after all. "How do you know these people?"
Arik shrugged. "I don't know. I go outside?"
"Hey! I go outside too."
Arik wagged a finger. "Sorry cousin, staying inside the palace grounds, with everything delivered to you, does not count as going outside."
Fahon froze. His keen vision caught the slightest glint of a scope in a broken window in the factory above.
He acted on pure instinct. Whipping out Divinity to enable Bond-sense, he Phase-crafted a crystalline blue tower shield and a defensive bubble around Arik. Divinity lifted off his hand and took cover behind his back.
With enhanced vision, Fahon could clearly make out the shadowed figure of the sniper in the window. Fahon dropped low, his tower shield providing ample cover, while Divinity peaked over the top.
"Fahon! Wait, wait!" Arik shouted, banging on the inside of the Phasematter dome.
A nearby door burst open, and Faceless rushed out, breaking out of their stack with practice choreography. Within seconds they had all their angles covered. While a few surrounded Fahon and Arik, weapons pointed. They didn't look like ordinary soldiers. They carried battered and aged auto-rifles, and had pistols holstered on their hips. Despite their odd appearance, the Faceless had trigger discipline and proper stances. They were professionals.
Both men and women in the group wore light parkas or sweatshirts with the hoods raised. Strapped to their faces were polished steel masks with no mouths. They had almond-shaped eyeholes inset with golden lenses. Fahon could see his reflection upon all their guises, the Phasematter shield glowing blue.
"For ancestors' sake, let me out, Fahon!"
Sighing, Fahon dismissed the dome, shattering it into a flurry of flickering blue particles. He kept his shield, gradually rising and relaxing a little.
"For a bunch of your friends, they aren't welcoming," Fahon said, eyes darting around. "I'll have you note this is the third time we've been greeted by people holding guns."
"It's a recurring theme in my life." Arik smiled weakly.
A Faceless stepped forward, letting his weapon dangle on the sling. He approached Arik and stood, feet shoulder width apart, crossing his arms.
"You have some gall coming back here after what you did to Pom."
Fahon could not believe what he was hearing. Arik had somehow betrayed everyone. His cousin really was beginning to look like a troublemaker. "Great. Arik, what did you do this time?"
"It's strictly between Pom and me," Arik said, raising a finger. "Let her know I want to talk. I brought her an opportunity to do some real good."
"Pom can hear everything out here, loud and clear," the Faceless said, tapping the side of his hood. "She wants to know who the Bonded is."
"His name is Fahon Drakk, my cousin; Argent Knight, once Inheritor, now Sovereign, of Ophan."
He plans to show me off to everyone and use my power to buy their forgiveness.
"Why did you bring him here?" the Faceless asked.
"He's the opportunity, obviously."
---
The freight elevator ground to life, jolting hard and creaking as it descended beneath the factory. The Faceless stood in rank around Arik and Fahon. A dull red light lit the elevator, the aggressive color worsening his anxiety.
A couple of the Faceless gave Fahon and Arik a rough pat down. Their leader, who had been talking outside, confiscated Arik's bag. He opened it and let loose a low whistle, pulling out the submachine gun and a wad of marks.
"Please." Arik sounded genuinely concerned. "Those marks are all I have left to my name."
The man shoved the items back in and zipped the bag. "You shouldn't walk around with guns and money. Were you born stupid?"
"A sound piece of advice. Ordinarily, I wouldn't do something so foolish. Times are trying."
Divinity had scanned all the Faceless in the elevator, red laser lines sweeping from top to bottom. The Faceless shifted uncomfortably, uncertain what to do about the cobalt-shelled machine.
The Faceless base was in a smart location. The elevator came to a screeching halt, jarring everyone. The factory above, filled with the dusty bones of old factory equipment, looked like a veritable maze. Access to the maintenance tunnels and storage rooms below would be limited to stairwells and elevators. The elevators could easily be disabled or trapped. The stairwell was an excellent way to funnel an enemy with superior numbers.
Despite the usual decay of dereliction, the entire building appeared well-built. The ceiling barely had any holes in it. The basement was set deep beneath the hill, like a bunker.
It had been renovated inside. The tunnels were a fresh white with new paint, too new for the Rusts. Directions and designations were printed in clean black lettering on the walls and intersections. Conduits and wires lined the ceiling, and the light fixtures had new bulbs, bathing the tunnels in crisp white light.
The block of Faceless marched at a quick pace through the tunnels. They passed neatly stacked supply boxes, and other masked who would stop and salute. The entire organization practiced precision. Fahon wondered if Pom was an ex-military officer.
At the six-way tunnel intersection was the entrance to an open mess hall with rows of benches for people to sit and eat at. The mess hall's tiled floor was well-polished and spotless. A few men sat eating together with masks tilted, familiar faces beneath. The yeasty scent of baking bread wafted through the tunnels, following the group as they passed, making Fahon remember his hunger.
"How do they get power to this place? It seems like this entire sector is dead," Fahon asked as they continued.
None of the Faceless answered. Arik spoke for them. "These old factories were built with their own geothermal power generators. The Faceless have some clever engineers, got the generators running again."
The leader shoved Arik from behind. "Don't go telling people our secrets."
"Look, we're all friends here, trust me." Talking earned him a second shove.
Divinity zipped ahead, examining the various alcoves and sub-tunnels, surprising an unsuspecting soldier going about their duties. The cobalt-shelled orb squawked a warning, and a soldier skirted around it cautiously.
The Faceless stopped in front of an open door. Inside, the room had white walls with black tiled floors. In the center stood a rectangular wooden table with folding chairs surrounding it. A female Faceless, flipping a black combat knife, sat in one chair. Her mask was on the table in front of her. Leaning back, she propped both boots on the table.
"Leave them with me," she said.
Their escorts shuffled off. Arik entered the room with a beaming smile on his face. Pom was a younger woman with a heart-shaped face, olive skin, fierce brown eyes, and hair dyed turquoise.
Fahon stood beside the table, hands folded in front of him.
"Pom! It's good to see you. You look great." Arik grabbed a chair and sat with a beaming smile.
Pom snorted. "And I see you still don't brush your hair."
Arik tilted his head in amusement, patting his mess of red hair. "No, usually it's gelled. It's an intentional hairstyle. It's been a couple rough days. I could use a shower and a hot meal." Arik grimaced deeply. "So…should we get it out of the way and talk about what happened between us?"
"No," she said, pointing the tip of her knife at him. "You're lucky I let you inside."
"Fine." Arik relaxed, clearly relieved she didn't want to talk about it.
Pom stared at Fahon, flipping her knife three times. "You bring the Sovereign of Ophan to my doorstep. What good does it do me?"
Divinity circled around, scanning Pom. She shooed it away. Fahon urged Divinity to return to him, and it did, floating to its place above his left shoulder. He didn't want it pestering people, not at a tense moment like this.
Arik put on a serious face. "Someone assassinated his father and tried to kill him. We believe this person may be a part of the Ophani aristocracy. Some rival House wants to take advantage of the chaos."
"Why not return and claim what's yours? Launch an internal investigation into the assassination?" Pom's brown eyes never left Fahon. She had an intensity to her stare, a fire burning behind them. He certainly wouldn't want her as an enemy, not with a look like that.
Fahon nodded, averting her sharp gaze. "You're right. It would be the responsible thing to do. This person wanted to paint it like the Syndicate ordered these assassinations. It's a cover, and I doubt any investigation will produce meaningful results. This person, who ordered the hits, killed my father. I have the power to seek justice and know the truth. As an Argent Knight, it is my duty."
"We mean find Kormel and force out the name of who hired him. By any means necessary," Arik said.
"Revenge is a dark path we often mistake for justice," Pom said. She waved the knife at both. "Trust me, boys, it's been my whole life. I swore to destroy the Syndicate and will pursue the goal until my dying breath. I know the urge for violence for what it is. I've faced the demons inside of me. Have you?"
The weight of those words struck Fahon. Pom was essentially waging war, outnumbered and outgunned. Fahon was too. He needed more resources and basic information, such as who his enemy was. The events of the past few days had been a whirlwind. He had hidden his grief, shoved it away for when he wasn't in danger. His father returning to the dust troubled him. He was hungry to inflict pain on the unjust. If he weren't careful, the desire would consume him, turning him into a monster. The path of the warrior wasn't an easy one. They straddled a fine line between peace and violence.
"No one has better eyes on the Syndicate," Arik admitted. "Can you help us?"
Pom stabbed her knife into the wood of the table. She left it standing upright by the point. "And what do we get out of helping you? How can an Argent Knight do anything for us? Aren't they all about noble causes?"
Arik had leveraged Fahon's political position in their previous deal with the Sovends. This time he weighed on Fahon's power as an Argent Knight and Bonded. It frustrated him a little, but he had to admit it was a sound plan.
He locked his eyes with Pom again with resolve. "I will join the Faceless and help fight the Syndicate then. When I'm Sovereign, I promise you will have my full aid, whatever you need. Whether it be political support, intelligence, or weapons. In return, hopefully, we can draw Kormel out or, like Arik said, force the Syndicate to reveal his location."
Pom pursed her lips, glancing back and forth between Fahon and Arik. "Yes, a Bonded sounds useful. But what about him?" This time she pointed at Arik with the knife. "Why should I shelter and feed him if he can't contribute and won't join our ranks?"
"I told you, I'm not a warrior, Pom. I'm a-"
Fahon cut in. "Arik is great at making connections and convincing people to do stuff. He can help."
"You're not wrong there. Let's put him to work." Pom smiled deviously. "I've been trying to find some equipment. Seeker-drones to keep a better eye on the Syndicate's suppliers. We've been using tiny commercial drones, but they are slow and can't cover enough ground with their puny batteries. Will getting two of those be a problem, Arik?"
Arik scratched the stubble on his face. "Uh…I'll give it a shot."
"Make it happen, cousin." Fahon rested a firm hand on Arik's shoulder.
Pom sprang from her seat and rounded the table. She was a good head shorter than Fahon as she stood before him and extended her hand. Fahon shook. Her grip was a warrior's, firm and determined.
"Welcome to the Faceless. You've promised with your life to destroy the Syndicate. If you're serious about your promises, you'll fit right in. We can hit the Syndicate hard with you on our side. I hope you're ready to shed some smile blood. Because I am."
Yeah, I hope I'm ready too.